Out of Water
by HavenKane
Summary: AU What if Harry never got his letter? Can the wizarding world survive without him? Can he survive without them? Rating because I'm paranoid.
1. Chapter 1

A/N New story! I was going to take some time off from my other two stories so that I could reread the books, but I ended up writing a new one.  
  
I realize that most of this chapter is taken from the books, but it is necessary. I promise.  
  
Re-posted with all of the errors my wonderful beta found, fixed up all nice and pretty.  
  
And now.  
  
Chapter One  
  
Albus Dumbledore, Minerva McGonagall, and Rubeus Hagrid left Privet Drive, each going their separate ways. They were saddened to abandon the tiny hero lying on the front porch of number four. They took comfort though in knowing that they would see this child again, that they would teach him, in just ten short years.  
  
Petunia Dursley rapped sharply on the door of the small cupboard beneath the stairs, calling the sleeping boy within to the kitchen. Today was Dudley Dursley's eleventh birthday. This meant that the table was piled high with presents. Dudley and his friend Piers were bound for a day of fun, and Harry was off to the neighbor's house for the day.  
  
As Harry was setting breakfast on the table, the phone rang. It seemed that Harry was in luck, as Mrs. Figg, the neighbor who always watched him, had been taken to the hospital earlier that morning with a broken leg. Harry's relatives were left with no choice but to take him with them.  
  
Before leaving, Vernon Dursley took his nephew aside for a few words.  
  
"You will behave yourself, boy," Uncle Vernon commanded.  
  
"Yes, sir," Harry agreed.  
  
Harry didn't understand why they always warned him to behave. He had only had the school call about him once. When he was seven Aunt Petunia got a call one morning from the principal saying that Harry had been cutting his own hair. He had shown up to class with no hair on his head longer than a quarter of an inch, except for his bangs, which were just as long as they had been the day before. The truth of the matter was that Harry hadn't touched his hair. Aunt Petunia gotten so tired of his hair sticking up in every direction even when he had just come back from having it cut that she took matters into her own hands. She cut it to look like that on purpose, leaving his bangs to hide the thin lightening bolt shaped scar on his forehead.  
  
Dudley on the other hand had at least one teacher calling the house per week, and they never told him to behave. Harry was used to it though and found it easiest to just agree.  
  
Harry had a great day. The beautiful animals the zoo held fascinated him like they did every kid his age. Dudley's tantrums about not getting enough ice cream, about how hot it was, and about how boring the animals were got on Harry's nerves, but it was better than spending the day looking at pictures of Mrs. Figg's cats.  
  
They solved the problem of the heat by taking refuge in the reptile house, which Dudley deemed boring when he, Piers, and Uncle Vernon were unable to wake a huge boa constrictor by beating on the glass of its terrarium.  
  
The others moved on, but Harry stayed and stared at the snake. It was an amazing and beautiful creature if he really looked at it, which apparently only he did.  
  
The snake raised its head and winked at the boy in front of it, giving Harry a look as though it would like very much to give people like Harry's relatives a good hard bite. Harry apologized for their behavior. It was a habit he had picked up somewhere along the way. He talked to animals, mostly the spiders that lived in his cupboard and even inanimate object on occasion. The odd thing this time was that the snake seemed to reply, not in words exactly, but it was a bit much to be put off as coincidence. The massive reptile shook and nodded its head as though it were answering Harry's questions.  
  
It was one of the most intelligent conversations Harry had participated in since before he could remember, but it was cut short by a shout from Piers.  
  
"DUDLEY! MR. DURSLEY! COME AND LOOK AT THIS SNAKE! YOU WON'T BELIEVE WHAT ITS DOING!"  
  
Dudley and Uncle Vernon immediately pushed their way over to where Harry was to see. Dudley sent Harry to the floor in an effort to get a closer look. The snake curled back up as Dudley asked what the snake had been doing.  
  
"Harry was talking to it. Weren't you Harry?" Piers replied as the boa constrictor behind him hissed, "Ssssorry, Amigo."  
  
Uncle Vernon rushed them all out to the car, and took Piers home early. The man was quiet the whole way home. As a matter of fact he had yet to say anything at all since he announced that they were leaving the zoo.  
  
Harry entered the house and was quickly making his way to his cupboard when he felt himself collide with the wall. He stood for a moment trying to remember how to breathe, then looked up and saw the bright red face of his uncle staring down at him.  
  
"How dare you," Uncle Vernon said with his teeth clenched as though his jaw had been glued together. Harry started to open his mouth and speak, but before he could make a sound he was met with the back of Vernon's hand.  
  
Harry placed the palm of his hand on his stinging cheek. He knew he hadn't been taken in as if he were their own. His aunt and uncle never treated him fair, but they had never actually hit him. That night changed that though, and Harry would soon come to find it commonplace.  
  
Harry spent the next half-hour, though he could have sworn it was days, curled into the smallest form he could manage, receiving blow after blow from his uncle's boots, fists, and belt. He cried out for the man to stop, for someone to save him, and eventually just cried.  
  
Apparently satisfied that he had learned his lesson, Vernon Dursley drug his nephew by the shirt collar over to the cupboard beneath the stairs and threw him in.  
  
Harry lay still, listening as the rest of the house prepared for bed. Silent tears made their way down his face at the injustice of it all. He felt so alone in that tiny little cupboard. He had no one. His relatives hated him. No one at school would talk to him for fear of Dudley. No one would ever come and save him, and he just had to live with it. He would just have to learn to deal with it.  
  
He soon found it completely normal to be in pain. Vernon's beatings were sporadic, as though his only goal was to make sure something on Harry always hurt. Just when Harry was starting to heal from one beating, his uncle would find something else to hit him for.  
  
Harry awoke one morning shortly after school had let out for the summer and was about to leave the house to avoid meeting up with his cousin or his uncle when a terrible stench from the kitchen caught his nose. Curiosity won out over the desire to be elsewhere, and Harry went in search of what was causing the strange odor.  
  
He found a tub of gray water in the sink, which held some sort of cloth at the bottom. When he asked what it was he got a dirty look and was told that it was some of Dudley's old clothes that were being dyed gray, and that he was expected to wear them to school.  
  
Harry had been looking forward to school this year, as Dudley wouldn't be with him. Dudley was going to a prestigious private boarding school, whereas Harry would be attending the local public school. It looked as though Harry would be escaping Dudley for once, but there was going to be no escaping the fact that he would be wearing a dull gray circus tent in lieu of an actual school uniform.  
  
Uncle Vernon and Dudley entered the kitchen, and there was a short argument over who would go and retrieve the mail. Harry lost and got up from the table, rubbing the now throbbing knot that was forming on the back of his head where Dudley hit him with his Smeltings stick.  
  
Harry went to the door and grabbed the handful of mail from the floor. He thumbed through it as he walked back to the kitchen. He always looked, but had yet to find even one letter addressed to him. Not that it surprised him. He didn't know anybody, so who would write to him?  
  
Harry spent the rest of the day wandering about Little Whinging, and even joined the library after one of the women he saw there everyday found out he wasn't a member, but elsewhere...  
  
Professor Minerva McGonagall was standing on a moving spiral staircase, awaiting the appearance of the headmaster's office door. She entered and was greeted with a smile and the offer of a lemon drop, which she refused.  
  
"There is a terrible problem with the list of potential first years, Headmaster," Professor McGonagall stated with no preamble.  
  
"And what might that be, my dear professor?" Professor Dumbledore asked, though by the saddened look on his face, he knew.  
  
"Harry Potter's name wasn't on the list. I checked three times, but its just not there," she replied.  
  
"Yes," Dumbledore said, "I noticed that too." He didn't meet her questioning eyes, but instead selected a lemon drop and popped it in his mouth.  
  
"I don't understand," the younger witch confessed. "The list holds the names of every child of the proper age who has displayed any magical ability. He turns eleven this year. He should be on the list."  
  
Dumbledore looked up at her with a small sad smile. "You just answered your own question, Minerva," he said softly. At her confuse look he continued. "He is turning eleven very soon, but sadly he did not fulfill the other requirement."  
  
"You're not serious, Albus. Harry Potter isn't... He can't be a..." she couldn't continue.  
  
"The savior of the wizarding world does not posses enough magic to be considered a wizard," the old man said, the mirthless irony cheering neither member of the conversation. "Harry Potter is a squib."  
  
Another A/N Thanks for reading. I already have the next chapter written. All I have to do know is type it and post it. Considering how long it took to wrangle enough time on the computer to type this one, I'm not really sure when I'm going to get it up.. Hopefully soon.  
  
Feedback would be greatly appreciated, but try to be nice. 


	2. Chapter 2

I forgot to do this in the first chapter, so I'll say it twice in this one. I do not own Harry Potter. I do not own Harry Potter.  
  
A/N All right, it's not much of a chapter, but there will be another one soon, and I just posted the other one yesterday, so you can't really complain.  
  
-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-*-_- signals a change in point of view, and is oddly enough very fun to do.  
  
Re-posted now that Erfa had time to go through it. It should be easier to read now.  
  
Chapter two  
  
The ten years were up, but they wouldn't be seeing their little hero again anytime soon. As a matter of fact, Dumbledore decided it would be best not to tell Harry about magic yet. Why show him what he can't have, especially considering what the press would do with that information? So for now, only Minerva McGonagall and Dumbledore himself knew the truth, but it wouldn't stay that way for long.  
  
Ignorance is bliss had never applied less. Harry Potter sat in his cupboard wrapping the cut on his left forearm in one of his oldest and most threadbare shirts. He had received it just a few hours ago. Harry was dusting the living room, when Dudley walked through and knocked Aunt Petunia's favorite crystal vase to the floor where it shattered beyond repair. The sharp jagged pieces went cascading across Harry's bare feet, but the pain of those small cuts was nothing when compared to the beating he got for breaking it. He was even going to have a new scar from the cut he was wrapping, which he had received from a rather large shard of the vase that he landed on when his uncle threw him to the ground.  
  
Harry glanced at the glowing numbers of his wristwatch. It had of course been Dudley's, but was now too small for his fat wrist, so his parents had bought him a brand new gaudy gold one for his birthday.  
  
According to the one Harry was staring at he was now eleven years old and had been for the past six minutes. He tied off his makeshift bandage, singing a soft and tired rendition of "Happy Birthday" to himself. He laid back and stared at the ceiling, wishing for someone to come and save him. The logical part of his brain scolded him for such stupid thoughts, and he fell asleep.  
  
Harry spent his birthday avoiding the Dursleys. He browsed through all of the shops in town but hated the way the managers of each shop would follow him around. He didn't blame them. He would probably try to keep an eye on the kid in the unnecessarily baggy clothes who never bought anything too if he were them. It was just a bit of an annoyance.  
  
He ended up in the park, where Mrs. Figg was out feeding the pigeons. She ended up being the only person to tell him happy birthday.  
  
He spent the next day the same way, and the next, and the next. The monotony was killing him, but he supposed it was an easier death than if he stuck around the house and let Uncle Vernon do it.  
  
September first came, and a great party was held for Dudley's going away. Harry was locked up beneath the stairs. He read the book he had taken out from the library by flashlight and listened to the babble of happy voices from beyond the door.  
  
Harry closed his eyes and imagined he was out there, not with the Dursleys, but at his own party, with the Potters and all of there friends. They were all singing "For He's a Jolly Good Fellow", and his mother was bringing a lit cake in from the kitchen with their congratulations scrawled across the top.  
  
He opened his eyes. There was no point in his stupid fantasies so why should he spend so much time on them. From that moment on Harry refused to indulge in such childish things.  
  
Dudley left for school the next day and Harry was sure Aunt Petunia would flood the train station with the tears she was making such a show of shedding.  
  
Hours later Harry was laying in his cupboard trying carefully not to move his shoulder which had been jarred against the stairs when he and his uncle had been "discussing" whether or not he should have laughed when Dudley slipped on the step onto the train. Uncle Vernon made his point, and Harry decided he needed to learn to control his emotions, if he was going to live through the next seven years here.  
  
The next day dawned, though you couldn't tell by the sky outside, and Harry woke to a completely silent house. He got up and put on his pathetic excuse for a uniform. After grabbing an apple for breakfast he made his way out the door and down Privet Drive. By the time he reached the school there was still a full two hours before classes were to start. None of the faculty had even made it there yet.  
  
Harry took the worn looking library book he had borrowed out of the patched old bag of Dudley's, and picked up where he had left off.  
  
A chapter and a half later, just as the unlikely hero entered the ill disguised secret lair of the quasi-evil villain, Harry's attention was called elsewhere. A man with slightly graying hair towered over him as he looked up. He flinched back at the intimidating presence.  
  
-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-  
  
David Blackwell got out of his trusty old SUV and walked up to his school, merrily whistling some tune he didn't remember the name of. The song was put out of his mind as he neared the building.  
  
There was a small boy perched on one of the benches in front of the school, his black hair looking as though it hadn't been combed in several days. He checked his watch to make sure he hadn't lost his mind. He walked over and stood in front of the boy. He recognized the book as one some of his older students were required to read, but the boy wasn't old enough to be in one of those classes. In David's opinion, he didn't look old enough to be wearing the uniform that was nearly falling off of his skinny frame.  
  
The boy looked up, and flinched away. David mentally scolded himself. He knew he was intimidating to his students, standing a full 6'6" in his stocking feet.  
  
-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-  
  
"Didn't mean to startle you," the man said as he took up a seat next to Harry.  
  
Harry was very nervous. What if he was in trouble? What if he wasn't supposed to be here this early? What if this teacher called his aunt and uncle?  
  
"Um, that's okay," Harry mumbled, "You just startled me." Having held so few conversations in his life, he was none too skilled in them.  
  
"What grade are you in, son?" the man asked with genuine curiosity.  
  
"I just finished primary," Harry confessed, "This is my first year here."  
  
"My name is Principal Blackwell," the man said and then paused for Harry to supply his name. "Harry, why don't you come inside and read? It's sweltering out here."  
  
-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-  
  
David took him inside, marveling that this tiny person in front of him was actually eleven years old. That's at least three years over what he would have guessed. The conversation continued as they walked. He welcomed him to the school, and convinced him that he was not in trouble. They even discussed the book he was reading, which Harry seemed to understand fine, even though it was about five years above what his reading level should have been.  
  
-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-  
  
Principal Blackwell told Harry that he had some "principal duties" to attend to, and that he would see Harry later. Harry watched the retreating form of his new principal, thinking that he liked him much better than the old one, which wasn't surprising considering Ms. Stowe hated children and made it a point to tell them all that whenever she could.  
  
Harry made it a bit farther in his book before the other students started to show up, and Harry got up from his position on the couch in the commons to try and find his classroom.  
  
A/N Thanks to all of you who reviewed. (Okay, so that's just Luci and Mella.) Please do it again (or for the first time.) I'll be waiting patiently (or not so) to read them. Love ya! 


	3. Chapter 3

I don't own Harry Potter. Parts of France, yes. Harry Potter, no.  
  
A/N I know that it is short (I promised Luci I would update as a bribe, and then my grandpa got into a car wreck, and I had to make soup, and cake, and I'm babbling), and that I am once again Erfaless, but if I wait for everything to be perfect, I would never post. I'm sorry. Maybe I'll go over each chapter with a fine-tooth comb after I finish it all, and re-post the perfect version. I don't know. If you find anything too terrible, and it bugs you enough, tell me and I'll fix it and re-post.  
  
In answer to the question that was in every single review that Luci didn't write. Yes, Harry Potter is actually a squib.  
  
Chapter three  
  
After several minutes and a few wrong turns Harry seated himself in a desk off to the far right of the empty classroom where his first class, arithmetic, was to take place. He chose a seat on the opposite side of the room from the door, not in the back because that was where the bullies always sat, and not in the front because he didn't want the teacher to take much notice of him.  
  
The seats around him slowly began to fill with happy talkative children. He didn't recognize most of them, as there were at least twelve different primary schools that sent their students here. Harry turned his body toward the wall next to him and brought his book close to his face. He wasn't actually reading it, but merely trying to blend in with the wall, or at least look unapproachable while he listened to the conversations going on around him.  
  
A pair of boys behind him were discussing a soccer game they had been to recently, while a girl in front of him was twittering on about some heartthrob or another. A girl who by the sound of it was sitting only a few seats over from Harry was talking nearly nonstop to someone who it seemed wasn't answering, or wasn't listening. I didn't seem to phase the talkative one though. She just kept on going.  
  
"She's supposed to be one of the best teachers in the whole school. I hope we don't get any homework today. Okay, I hope we don't get any homework ever, but especially today. I am really going to try to be on the school paper. I know they don't like the younger students to write for the paper." Harry nearly laughed. You could tell how nervous she was by how quickly all of the words left her mouth, but you could also hear who excited she was about each and every topic she ran through.  
  
All too soon, as Harry was rather enjoying the girl's opinions on various topics, the teacher cam in and stood in front of her students. Harry turned to face her and caught sight to a girl two seats over doing the same.  
  
"My name is Mrs. Right," the teacher announced. Her straight black hair was cut short just below her ears, and bounced with every move of her jaw. "Before we begin I need to find out who we have with us today and who's missing," she took out a notebook and began to call attendance.  
  
"Jeremy," was the first name on the list, and was answered to with a simple, "Here," for the back of the room.  
  
"Isabella," was the next to be called and was answered to in the same enthusiastic voice Harry had been listening to before class. It belonged to the girl two seats over from him. She raised her hand high into the air. "I go by Izzy please, Mrs. Right," Izzy said. Mrs. Right nodded that she had heard and marked it down in the notebook.  
  
"Juniper," was after Izzy, and the girl next to Harry raised her hand as Izzy answered. "She goes by June, Mrs. Right," she supplied helpfully.  
  
"That's fine, Izzy, but please let her speak for herself from now on," Mrs. Right scolded in what Harry thought might have passed for a patient tone if he hadn't caught the glint of annoyance in her dark brown eyes.  
  
Harry looked over at the girls next to him, feeling that it was safe now that everyone's attention was on the teacher. He immediately noticed several very interesting things about these fellow students. One was that they were exactly the same. They had the same nose, same eyes, and same mouth. They both had the same blond hair, and the same small figure. Harry was surprised he hadn't noticed before that they were twins.  
  
The second thing that caught his attention was how different the two of them were. Every single thin that they could control about themselves was completely different. June's hair was tied back in a thick braid that fell past her waist. Izzy's was up in tiny brightly colored clips around her face, as the back fell loose, and slightly curly, just below her shoulders. She wore tiny silver earrings, and her cheeks, lips, and eyes were colored in ways that did not come naturally. Not to say she didn't look a dream, just not natural. June on the other hand didn't appear to have her ears pierced, and if she did wear make up, it wasn't obvious. While Izzy sported earrings, several bracelets, a strap of leather around her neck with what appeared to be a coin attached to it, and at least three rings so far as Harry could see, June didn't appear to care much for jewelry. Harry thought that he caught sight of a fine silver chain around her neck as she shifted slightly in her seat, but couldn't be sure, as it was well hidden under her shirt, if it was there at all. Izzy had her books covered in various stickers, and thrown at her feet. She sat with her feet tucked underneath her and was scribbling on a sheet of paper her desk, while June was seated with her perfect set of books on the desk in front of her, hands in her lap, and feet on the floor. It was shocking to see just how different two people could be, even without the two being identical twins.  
  
Another attribute that the twins shared, despite their extreme differences, was that they were both extremely beautiful. Harry had no doubt that they had both had boys chasing after them their whole lives.  
  
"Harry," Mrs. Right called sometime later, startling him out of his mental commentary on the twins.  
  
"Um, here," Harry replied quietly, raising his hand slightly.  
  
There were a few names after Harry, and then Mrs. Right began her lecture. She spent the hour going over the school rules and what would be covered in her class.  
  
It was about five minutes before they were to be released when she handed out their class schedules, leaving just enough time to look over your own, and those of the people sitting around you.  
  
Harry looked at his schedule.  
  
Arithmetic/ Right/ 113  
  
Elementary Civics/ Bowing/ 156  
  
Basic Biology/ Brown/ 208  
  
First lunch  
  
English Lit (H)/ Platt/ 111  
  
Phys Ed/ Wash/ Gym  
  
Art/ Torres/ 252  
  
He had started mapping out a route to his next class in his head, when he felt someone's gaze upon him. He looked over to find June staring at him with more than a little amusement in her eyes. Her other features held no hint of what her traitorous eyes were screaming, but instead showed a pleasant smile. She held her class schedule out to him, and he took it, reluctantly handing his own over to her. He was afraid that if he hadn't she would have been upset with him, and he didn't want that for some reason.  
  
Her schedule was nearly the same as Harry's, except where he had biology as his third class she had art, and advanced biology took up the last spot on the page.  
  
June tapped her sister on the shoulder and held out her hand, into which a sheet of paper was dropped. June handed the paper over to Harry who then unfolded it to reveal Izzy's schedule. She, like her sister, had all the same classes as Harry except for two. She had art after lunch, and it appeared that she wasn't taking honors English, though Harry was a little curious as to why he was taking it. Harry handed both pieces of paper back to the still grinning blonde, and hesitantly returned he smile.  
  
The bell rang, and the classes were all unleashed upon the unsuspecting hall. Harry quickly made his way out of the room, dodging between the loitering masses, and headed toward civics.  
  
-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-  
  
June watched on as the young man she been sitting next to darted out of the classroom. This Harry Potter was a bit of a mystery to her, and she had always loved a good mystery. She was definitely going to have to solve this. She already had some theories, but it would take some time before she could say for sure.  
  
A/N Hopefully the next one will longer. Please, pretty please review! I love reviews. I look forward to them greatly. They make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. It is very disconcerting to feel fuzzy inside, but hey.. Whatever. I like it. 


	4. Chapter 4

I don't own Harry Potter.  
  
I don't have a beta-reader, or rather I don't have a beta-reader that is willing to beta my stories. I will re-post it all of the errors corrected should Erfa ever return to me. My spell-checker and I went over it a couple of times, but that doesn't mean anything.  
  
Chapter Four  
  
After a few minutes of completely unorganized jostling about the halls, Harry found his next class. He took up the most unobtrusive seat in the room and opened his book, once again trying to look unapproachable. He realized he had failed when he felt a small hand come to rest on his shoulder. He normally would have withdrawn from such contact, but it didn't frighten him coming from June. He looked into her sparkling eyes and wanted to ask what it that was she found so funny, but he was distracted when he heard a soft but clear voice ask him, "Good book?"  
  
Harry looked down at the library book on his desk, turned back to her and nodded. He was a bit relieved to know that she could speak at least, even if she didn't do it often.  
  
"Have you gotten to the part with the bear?" she asked, her soft smile widening into a grin.  
  
Harry snickered, and was about to take advantage of having someone who could hold an intelligent conversation, and was actually willing to, but just as he opened his mouth he was once again interrupted.  
  
"Hey!" Izzy said as she ran into the room. "Can you believe Tanson broke up with me? The jerk!" She sat down next to June who had taken up the seat next to Harry. June rolled her eyes at her sister's theatrics. "I know!" Izzy said, misinterpreting the look on her twin's face, though Harry had a feeling it was on purpose.  
  
"Izzy Blackwell," the chatty girl said holding her hand out to Harry.  
  
"Harry Potter, um. nice to meet you," Harry said, nervously taking her hand.  
  
"And this is June," Izzy continued, "but you've already met I guess."  
  
Harry Potter had made his first true friends. They continued talking throughout the class. Actually, Harry and Izzy talked; June just listened with unveiled amusement.  
  
They all agreed that civics was going to be their easiest class, as Mr. Bowing's entire lecture consisted of attendance (where Izzy once again answered for her sister) and, "Your vocabulary words and chapter questions are due on Friday. Keep the noise down so that the principal doesn't rag on us, and we'll get along swell." He then put on headphones started reading a magazine.  
  
Harry and June copied the assignment off of the black board, to which Izzy stated that she would just copy theirs. June shook her head, and Harry gave an unsure, "Um. Okay," for which Izzy hugged him tightly. Harry tensed at the contact, but Izzy didn't seem to notice.  
  
Harry was informed during to course of the class that they were indeed Principal Blackwell's daughters, that their mother was a doctor, and that they had two little brothers. Harry didn't volunteer any information about himself, but Izzy didn't seem to mind doing most of the talking.  
  
Class ended, and Izzy told her sister where she would meet her for lunch and then bounded off for biology, her hand clasped firmly around Harry's wrist.  
  
Much to Izzy's disappointment biology was not to be as simple as their civics class. The entire hour was spent taking notes as Mrs. Brown lectured.  
  
Soon enough they were released to go to their thirty-minute lunch and Izzy was once again leading Harry through the maze of halls and toward the cafeteria.  
  
They were nearly the first students there. Izzy soon had her food, and they went to the back of the steadily filling room and found a table in the corner to sit at.  
  
"I can't believe you aren't eating," Izzy complained.  
  
"Just not hungry," Harry lied. In reality, the Dursleys never gave him any money to buy lunch with.  
  
"You're skin and bones. How are you not hungry?" she asked.  
  
He shrugged, and then looked away, somewhat ashamed to have lied to the girl.  
  
For the first time since Harry met her Izzy Blackwell willingly stopped talking, and instead began devouring her lunch. June joined the table soon thereafter.  
  
"How was art?" Harry asked as she too dug into her meal, though at a much slower rate than her sister did. Sticking true to form she did not speak, but merely shrugged and smiled knowingly.  
  
In a surprisingly short amount of time Izzy had finished her food. She got up from the table and took her tray to the front of the cafeteria.  
  
June looked at him and smiled her knowing smile.  
  
"What do you know that I don't know?" Harry asked her.  
  
"A lot," she laughed. He huffed indignantly, making her laugh harder, but soon realized she meant no offense and smiled sheepishly.  
  
"I don't doubt that," he reply, and she grinned mischievously. It was a look that gave Harry a strong feeling that trouble was on its way.  
  
June got up to put away her tray just as Izzy got back to the table, looking at the both of them as though she were sure that they had been talking about her.  
  
Izzy had started to ask Harry something when a loud rumbling from Harry's stomach interrupted her. "I told you that you're hungry!" she stated with a look of over exaggerated triumph.  
  
Harry simply shrugged, a motion of indifference he had always used to drive people off. Izzy didn't seem to be going any were though.  
  
"Will you be my boyfriend?" Izzy asked.  
  
Harry had pretty much gotten used to random changes of topic when Izzy was around, but this one definitely caught him off guard. Harry gave her the same look he probably would have given Aunt Marge if she had started pinching his cheeks and baby talking to him, which is to say he was shocked speechless.  
  
June was obviously not suffering from the same problem. When she found her way back to their table she rolled her eyes, something she seemed to do a lot around Izzy, and said, "Leave him alone, Iz," in an exasperated tone.  
  
Izzy shrugged, completely unfazed by the reactions of the other two. "Whatever, I'm going to head toward art now. You two have fun!"  
  
June got to her feet and raised an eyebrow. He answered her silent question by rising from his seat and following her out of the noisy room.  
  
Harry looked over at his newfound friend. Ten years of being told never to ask questions were fighting against a stronger than average curiosity. Curiosity won out as she wasn't a Dursley, and seemed to be very patient and forgiving.  
  
"Why don't you talk much?" Harry asked nervously as they neared their classroom.  
  
She looked at him for a long moment, and Harry was sure she would remain silent and ignore that he had even asked a question. Harry wouldn't have really cared. He was used to people doing that, or worse, at home, but then she smiled brightly and answered with a shrug, "Iz talks enough for the both of us."  
  
-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-  
  
George Platt watched as his goddaughter walked into his classroom with a true grin plastered across her face. They were all used to her sweet serene smile, but true joy was rare.  
  
The cause of the foreign but welcome expression became apparent when a laughing black haired boy entered behind her. The two of them took up seats near the back of the room. George watched as the boy chatted quietly with best friend's little girl. His mouth dropped open slightly with shock as she replied to something the boy had said.  
  
As far as George had been told June only ever talked to her sister at school, and had been very disappointed that he would have them in separate class.  
  
Here she was though. Granted she didn't speak more often than she did, but her few answers endeared him to the boy immediately.  
  
-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-  
  
The bell rang, and the room's attention turned to the teacher. Though they were soon distracted by a late arrival stumbling through the door, muttering his apologies.  
  
"My name is Mr. Platt," the teacher stated, and Harry watched in confusion as June's grin grew slightly. "Before we start today's lesson. Attendance! Now, is Jeremy Adair here?" Mr. Platt questioned.  
  
The boy who had shown up late raised his hand from the seat in front of June.  
  
"Wonderful. Juniper Blackwell?" he called, and June raised her hand with a smirk.  
  
Harry laughed softly and spoke up, "She goes by June, Mr. Platt," causing June to turn red in suppressed laughter.  
  
English passed quickly, and although they had been given an entire book to read as homework that night Harry thought it was their best class yet.  
  
A/N I know that it has been a while since I last updated. I have had this chapter for a while, and am through writing (not typing) the next. I am going to quit waiting for them to be looked over. You guys can live with a little bad grammar. 


	5. Chapter 5

I don't own Harry Potter.  
  
A/N Since you all had to wait so long for chapter four, I thought I would be nice and give you chapter five as soon as I had it done, and not even try to wait for Erfa.  
  
Chapter 5  
  
Harry and June met up with Izzy as they entered the gymnasium. They took seats in the bleachers as they were instructed to, and chatted amongst themselves until Mr. Wash announced their plans for the day. "When I call you name come down here and grab you gym uniform."  
  
They continued talking though out class, each leaving momentarily when their name was called, and returning with a gray T-shirt and dark blue shorts. Harry snorted slightly at the first set of clothes he had ever owned that actually fit. The other two murmured or nodded their agreement, though Harry was fairly sure they didn't fully understand what they were agreeing with.  
  
There were only a few minutes left in class by the time everyone had been called so they were released early. The three of them said their good- byes, even eliciting a few words from June, and they left in separate directions.  
  
Harry entered the art room and sat at a table near the back. He took out "Of Mice and Men" and began to read. It was the book Mr. Platt had assigned as homework that night, and Harry was hoping to get a head start on it.  
  
A few moments later, after all of the desks had been filled, Mrs. Torres walked into the room. The bell rang, and she immediately began to speak.  
  
"Clear your tables. Keep your things under your chairs, when you have accomplished this look at me, nothing and no one else. Do not speak while I am speaking." She paused for them to comply. "Good. When I call your name you will say 'here' in a voice I can both hear and understand. You will raise one hand, and only put it down when I have called the next name. Adair, Jeremy." The boy in the seat beside Harry complied with her orders. "Blake, Roger," the list went on, each student replying as they were told to. When she reached the bottom of the list, she put away the notebook and stood once again in front of the class.  
  
"I want to see who in this class possesses talent, and who will be wasting my time. When I tell you to begin Miss Staite," she pointed to a dark headed girl on the front row, "will pass out a single sheet of paper to each of you. You will take out one number two pencil and I will set an object set a small object on your desk. You will spend the rest of the class period drawing the object to the best of your ability. If you have any questions raise your hand. If you would like help with your drawing, too bad. I will not be assisting you today. There is a pencil sharpener on my desk, feel free to use it. Begin."  
  
Everyone got out a pencil, and Mrs. Torres handed the girl from the front of the room a small stack of blank paper. As the girl made her way around the room Mrs. Torres retrieved a sack from behind her desk. She followed in the girl's wake handing out a variety of items. She gave out such things as an empty picture frame, a skeleton key, a candlestick, and an empty ice tray, before reaching Harry's seat at the back of the room. Mrs. Torres lowered her entire arm into the sack, feeling along the bottom for the next item, and came up with a single screw, which she laid upon the table in front of Harry.  
  
Harry had resigned himself to simply try, and he would just have to deal with whatever grade he was give. This was based on talent, and Harry was fairly sure he didn't have any. As a matter of fact, he hadn't even tried to draw anything since he was in the first grade. He had brought home a picture of a moose so that the Dursleys would hang it on the fridge with Dudley's doodles, and Uncle Vernon had lit it on fire instead.  
  
The boy next to him, Jeremy, growled quietly in frustration as the subject of his artwork, a small rubber ball, rolled down the table. Harry caught it and handed it back, only to have it make another escape attempt a few seconds later. After the third time he had to catch the ball for the other boy, Harry grabbed the ball as it went rolling past and placed it in a small groove in the table, just in front of Jeremy's paper. The other boy flashed a sheepish grin, and returned to his paper.  
  
The bell rang signaling the end of the day, and the halls were flooded with noise. Harry stood and surveyed his work. It looked like a screw to him, so at least he probably wouldn't fail.  
  
Jeremy looked over Harry's shoulder as Harry stooped to pick up his bag. "Wow," the brown-haired boy said, "you're pretty good at that."  
  
Harry stood back up and shrugged. As he was collecting his things Jeremy continued. "Mine just sort of looks like a circle."  
  
Harry laughed slightly as he noticed the truth to the boy's statement. He gave a short, "Um. well. see you later, I guess," before walking to the front of the classroom to give Mrs. Torres his sketch and screw.  
  
Five minutes after fleeing the school building Harry ended his short jog in front of the library. He entered and sat at his regular table near the back.  
  
Hours later a loud speaker announced that the library was closing. Harry stood and stretched. He was quite satisfied with the amount of work he had accomplished. He had read the book Mr. Platt had assigned and written a one-page commentary on it. All of his civics for the week had been completed, and he had finished and returned his library book.  
  
After taking his next selection up to the circulation desk, he began the trek home. Harry was very much looking forward to sleeping, as it was getting quite late.  
  
Upon entering the house Harry was promptly thrown against the wall. He was sure if Uncle Vernon kept doing this the wall beside the front door would end up with a permanent dent in the shape of his body. He would probably get beat for damaging the wall.  
  
Harry lay for an indefinite period of time in the fetal position with his hands over his head as his uncle brought a belt down over his body time and time again. Strips of flesh and cloth were ripped off with each snap of the belt.  
  
Harry stayed quiet as his muscles were slowly exposed to the outside world. He was oddly removed from the scene. He thought about Izzy and June, safely tucked away in their beds as their father kisses their foreheads and bids them goodnight. He thought about Jeremy lying in his bed watching television, as his mother comes in and reminds him its time for bed. He imagined being anywhere but where he was. Why couldn't he have stayed with Remus? Remus. He knew that name.  
  
Harry was picked up by the collar of his shirt and dumped unceremoniously in his cupboard. He laid his head upon his thin pillow, and was immediately lost in sleep.  
  
-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-  
  
Harry came home from his first day at Stonewall High to find his mother in the kitchen transferring mashed potatoes from the pan to the serving bowl. He dropped his bag on the table and walked over to her.  
  
"Can I lick the beaters?" he asked, giving her a hug around the waist.  
  
"After you wash up, Harry-bear," she replied, her bright blue eyes smiling at the dirty look she received for the pet name, "and take your bag up to your room as you go."  
  
Harry smiled and bounded up the stairs. He opened the door with the plaque that read 'Hairy's Room' on it, and entered the cavernous room. He tossed his bag onto the window seat and kicked his shoes off in the corner next to his computer desk. He leaped over the pile of comic books lying in the middle of his floor and charged down the hall to the bathroom. He ran back down the stairs, jumping the last four, and into the kitchen.  
  
"I wish you would stop jumping the stairs," his mother said, handing over the beaters she had used on the potatoes. "Garrison is a bad influence on you," she continued, referring to Harry's father's best friend.  
  
"Uncle Gary isn't a bad influence," Harry argued, licking at the beaters as though they were made of pure sugar. Garrison Bronte was his father's best friend growing up, which was surprising considering how straight-laced Harry's father was.  
  
"You know, most kids only like to lick the beaters when there is chocolate involved," Harry's mother commented, tucking a strand of her jet-black hair behind her ear.  
  
"I like potatoes," Harry shrugged. "When is Dad going to be home?"  
  
"Soon I believe," she answered as she put the serving plate full of roast onto the table. "Would you set the table for me, Harry?"  
  
He nodded and put the beaters in the sink. The table was nearly full when they heard the front door.  
  
"Burning up out there," Harry's father stated as he walked into the kitchen running a hand trough his short blonde hair.  
  
"Dad!" Harry cried, hugging his father tightly.  
  
"Hey, kiddo!" he shouted, his bright eyes sparkling down into Harry's identical green orbs. Harry let go of the man, who then put down his briefcase and pecked his wife on the cheek.  
  
They all sat down, and dug into the delicious food set before them. The discussion at dinner varied from Harry's first day at school, to his mother and father's days, to their weekend plans, and Harry's new bike that he rode to school. He had gotten it for his birthday, and Robby, Harry's best friend since the first grade, was completely jealous of because of it.  
  
Just as Harry's mother set a rather large slice of lemon pie in front of him for desert Harry awoke.  
  
A/N I wasn't sure about the dream, but I think it will all work out fine. Thank you to everyone who reviewed, and please do it again. 


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